The Parody That Doesn't Use Alliteration
by Trekkie S. Monster
Summary: COMPLETE. A Parody. In case you haven't noticed. Of Book 12. Complete with sarcasm and whiny Brattylaires! Plus making fun of Lemony and the way he writes! Dumb dumb dumb! Enjoy the dumbness!
1. Chapter One

A/N: This is just to fill up time not doing homework. Squee.

Disclaimer: Yeah, I'm not Snicket, in case you haven't guessed, it's all been said, big whoop, wanna fight about it? -family guy

**The Penultimate Peril. Yeah, It's the same title. Big Whoop. Wanna fight about it?**

Here lyeth a long paragraph about the randomest thing that you find out actually has to do with the story. Let's just use the enter key.

Okay. Keep in mind that whole thing was one paragraph. I KNOW.

"So, Baudelaires," Kit began. "Oh wait—no. Yes. Well, anyway, I give you clues and enhance the mystery. Poison darts. Opera. Esmé. Enhance. Meh.

"Oh and by the way, I'm pregnant, which is the only touch of realism in these books. Isn't that funny?"  
"Ha. Ha." The Baudelaires looked around, wondering what was happening to their deteriorating, beloved story.

"Now, Baudelaires, this person said this, and that person said that, and anyway, for this brave stunt, I ask you—please take off your seatbelts. We are being followed."

"How do you know?"  
"Eh, paranoia?"  
At this point the Bauds were very scared not only of their driver, but where they were going. Let's take a few hundred sentences in one paragraph to think about this and make an odd analogy.

Had enough? Great.

Suddenly another analogy appeared and Sunny popped it with her four sharp teeth. Oh by the way, the Baudelaires were talented at: Inventing, researching, and…erm…what was that? Biting? No. Oh, cooking. Got it, got it. Cooking.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. Popped analogy. Baudelaires almost got killed and Sunny flew toward the windshield. Kit grabbed her calmly by her head (which is ¾ of her body) and put her down, as if this happened every day.

Violet and Klaus exhaled.

"I shouldn't have done that," Kit said, Hagrid-style. "Ah well, who cares if my baby's completely deformed?"

She leaves and orders them to clean up after her even though she would be doing things much harder as a volunteer than carrying folders and books.

"Oh yeah. And she is completely trustworthy cause she saw an opera with our momma."  
"Yeah."  
"Yeah."  
"Yeah."  
"Yeah."  
"Uh, should we go?"  
"Yeah."  
They do.

HINT HINT.

OPERA.

POISON DARTS.

NARRATION.

I WAS THERE.

ESMÉ.

CERTAIN WOMEN.

HINT.

HINT.

--------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and thank you for reviewing! Yes, you. No, don't ignore me. I'm watching you!

Jk, jk. No seriously, review.

Oh yeah, I know it's a sucky first chapter, but it'll get better.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: Hey peeps! Thank you for your reviews. I'd do a smiley but it doesn't work.Damn this format...!

I'm glad you like the story.

And to Doug: Ribbing?

* * *

?tey ynnuf ti Is Halb halb halb. Uoy esufnoc ot siht gniod tsuj m'I

The Hotel was odd, and this pond was a secret, which I'll now overshadow. Then the Brattylaires decided to look up, because that usually helps.

"C'mere, Bratty—er, Baudelaires!" Kit motioned.

"How did this picnic get here?" Violet asked before sitting down.

"It's never really explained. And technically we're supposed to leave one out for the next volunteer, but whatever. It's not important to the story," Almighty Know-All Klaus said knowledgeably.

Sunny shrugged. Violet shrugged. The story continued.

"Since our initials are here, perhaps someone's stalking us…" Klaus mused. "But no matter. This possibility has also flown out the window, along with everything else that made sense in this story." Sunny nodded knowingly. "And someone knew we were going to be here, but they completely ignore us for the rest of the story…" Klaus shrugged again, which had to be the millionth time in this story.

"You look like your father. I'll now say things that prove I'm good and pretend to answer your questions while actually just make everything more complicated and give you impossible instructions for a baby and two teenagers, but since you've survived everything that's been thrown at you which makes you really lucky children, so the name is a lie, and—" Suddenly Kit burst into tears for no apparent reason, astounding the children. They asked her what was wrong, and she responded, "Someone who mysteriously has the initials that everyone else has is posing as my dead brother, Jacques Snicket. Or it could be a good person or—I don't know," she cried, sounding even more distraught. "Now do this, do this, do this, and do this. And don't do this. Make sure not to do this, because it'll all be ruined." A fresh batch of tears burst from Kit's eyes, and the Baudelaires became very worried and scared of a woman who cried for no apparent reason. "It will be ruined!" She sobbed. "It must be ruined! I mean, er, it will be ruined, I'm positive! But you must try, though I just told you you can't! Solve every one of VFD's problems, Baudelaires. You must. It just becomes your automatic duty because you are three vulnerable children being stalked by a horrible villain. Now, Frank is good, Ernest is bad. The trick is they're identical. Go solve it, Baudelaires!" She ushered them away to change and settled into a nice lawn chair and next to her magically appeared an ice cold glass of lemonade. "Ah," she sighed. "The magic of a summer's day.

* * *

I apologize, for the very short chapter, but most of it was Kit talking anyway. The next chapter will be better. But I need five reviews for it. ;) God, I hate when people do that. Ah well.

For those lazy people, here is it forwards:

I'm just doing this to confuse you. Blah blah blah. Is it funny yet?

Luv, Me.


	3. Chapter Three

AN: Hello dearest readers. And new arrivals—and there better be lots of you or no coal in your stockings! I is back again for another installment of TPTDUA. :D

Here we go again…another SHORT chapter.

And a special thank-you to Doug, not only for two reviews, but for constructive criticism, which I can _always_ use.

------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Three

Here is a random sentence in which insert code for VFD here. Dramatic, no? (raises one eyebrow) NOTHING SECRET IS GOING ON. ?ff uoy ssip siht t'nseoD .gnirorrim erom tey dnA

The Baudelaires walked into the enormous NOT-QUIET hotel lobby, not knowing exactly what to do, though they _did _have instructions.

"Waddawedo?" Sunny asked, but she certainly wasn't whining, because we all know babies, such as Sunny, do _not_ whine. Ever. Or have tantrums. You get the point.

Numbers were everywhere, 101, 118, 152, 123, 131, etc. The Baudelaires were bewildered, and when Sunny mentioned something about finding the volunteer or his TRIPLET (cough) twin brother, they were lucky when a tall, skinny, very odd-looking man came over, either trying to murder them or assist them, had he known who they were. "Frank or Ernest?" Violet asked, saying something that would certainly not help.

"Yep," the man said, also not helping. "Anyway, howdy ho. Here's how to work the numbers, concierges. Oh wait, I can't tell you." He looked down. "You are very short. There's nothing unusual about that, though, especially considering that absolutely nobody is here in disguise." He laughed and the Baudelaires nodded. He gave them an UNFATHOMABLE look. "First, you must do everything for the guests, even stupid things, like getting an evil villain a harpoon gun that will—"

He was interrupted by the sound of a person far away. "You idiot! Don't tell them that!" They realized that it was the studio audience. They chose to ignore them and continue.

"By the way, I have to leave so my TRIPLET (cough) twin brother can come and make you even more anxious."

The Baudelaires looked at each other. People seemed to talk a lot 'round these parts. They discussed about the mysterious Frernest and were interrupted by a man identical to the one before. "Hello, concierges. Now—"

At the perfectly _wrong_ time, a bellgirl appeared to make the Bauds nervous. "Here's the _DAILY PUNCTILIO_," she said in a cold voice, hinting nothing whatsoever, because who ever heard of that?

"Look at that, Baude—er, concierges. Baudelaire murderers again. What do you think of that?" he said UNFATHOMABLY.

"Hmmm," the Bauds said in unison, also UNFATHOMABLY.

UNFATHOMABLE is now being quite overused, but we choose to ignore this. "Now _I_ must make my leave, so my TRIPLET (cough) twin brother can come back and confuse you even more, and maybe perhaps sorta kinda not really give you a code that you can't understand."

He promptly did so, not noticing each other as they made a quick switch, because hey, _that_ would ruin the story, man. Oh wait, the Baudelaires had to "discuss." Sorry. Rewind. And, there. Good.

"He was Frank!"

"Ernest!"

"Frank!"

"Ernest!"

"Shaddap!" Sunny shrieked at her siblings. "Gohdammet." She crawled into a ball and sucked her thumb, cueing Frank—I mean Ernest—I mean—ah man.

"What do you mean by 'Gohdammet?'" the attendant said, returning suddenly.

"SHOW US HOW IT WORKS AND STOP MESSING AROUND, GODDAMNIT!" Sunny said from her spot on the floor.

The three elders stared at her and each raised their eyebrows. "She can talk!" Violet said, and raised Sunny up by her legs. "It's a miracle!" She and Klaus briefly danced, still holding her up by her legs, then put her down, Sunny very annoyed.

"Anyway," Frernest said casually, "here's how it works. It's set up in the Dewey Decimal System, and—the first floor is 101-199, and for—"

He continued. The author didn't want to write what he said. Lalalala, dedadum, shoobop baby.

Ahem. Anyway. "So, what would be here?" he said, pointing to a very badly-made diagram, out of breath.

"Well," Violet said, "x over y is the same as 7 over 2 ½ divided by the number of strands of hair on a hippo's toe, so maybe…243, 764?"

"No," Frnernest said impatiently, wiping his brow. "It's par on a mini golf course in San Francisco divided by—BAUDELAIRES ARE YOU IN DISGUISE CUZ I HAV LIKE GOT TO KNOW MAN AND UH EVEN THOUGH THIS IS IN CODE I COULD BE EITHER FRANK OR ERNEST PLEASE RESPOND EVEN IF THIS MAKES IT MORE CONFUSING FOR YOU—the number of 23.77662. Got it? Great."

"Wait," Klaus paused. "Did you say 'Great?' Cuz I sorta missed that part."

Frernest paused, as if the middle Baudelaire had given him the wrong answer. "Now split up and be off with you! I'll just follow after my enemy—er, friend—associate—unknown person Kit and drink lemonade!" He frolicked and the audience sighed.

"Go," Violet said. "We'll meet whenever we feel like it," she said gruffly and stomped away.

"Kay," Sunny said at Violet's mood swing. "I'm not scared cuz I'm a big girl." She puffed her chest.

"Gaga," Klaus said, tugging at Sunny's dress.

"Klaus," Sunny said in a suddenly stern, deep tone, "Just remember the hotel is like a library and _nothing bad can happen in a library_."

"Yuh-huh," Klaus said in a very grown-up manner. Sunny kicked him off her leg and pointed in the direction of the elevator. He obeyed.

--------------------------------------------------------

Soooooooooooooooooo, what'd'ya think? Leave a review. And I'll give you some canday. I have some left over from Halloween. Five reviews and a new chapter!


	4. Chapter Four: Plus Bonus NOT A CHAPTER!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

NOT A CHAPTER

Myster10us tr1ptych. 00h. Scary, r1ght?

Basically, you can read these in any order. Saves another twenty-page paragraph, doesn't it?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Long-Awaited Chapter...Four

Gleaming...Sun...Mirrors...Violet...Sunbathing...Salon...I'm good at saving paragraphs, amn't I?

So, this dude was like standing in the corner, and since V is like a volunteer, maybe she should've noticed him, but y'know, this sucks, so like, on with the story?

He had two big spatulas that were flipping people. No comment. Anyway, suddenly, and totally out of the blue, (and no one ever knew this was going to happen), all of a sudden, ehmagod, who knew it, did NOT see it coming a mile away, omfg, wth, wtf mate? ESMÉ SQUALOR. AND HER LITTLE BEBE CARMELITA.

"Gasp!" Violet said. "What a koh-ink-ee-dink!"

"Yes," Esmé drawled from behind her ginormous glasses. "YOU! I have seen you before, and I know who you really are. You are in disguise!"

"Habada-what?" asked Violet politely.

"Are you deaf, biznatch? As a concierge! Haha! Wasn't that hilarious and not see-through at all? Now, concierge, because I'm too in to call you by any other name, fetch me a-what shall we have, Carmy dearest?"

This is where I FAIL to describe something that makes me vair queasy-women. Especially since I was engaged, I think they have cooties.

Let's skip over it, and get to the good part.

I AM NOT GAY. Anyway.

"I can see the headline now!" said obsessed fan girl/newspaper reporter Geraldine Julienne. "BEST PERSON IN THE WORLD COMPLAINS ABOUT FILTHY NASTY DIRTY STINKY HOTEL THAT BELONGS IN HELL!"

"Whatever," Violet said, filing her nails with an imaginary file. "Just give me the orders, lady."

"Well, it's about that little tomboy wonderful person over there whom I love and will cherish forever."

"I'm not an adorable little girl!"

"I didn't say you were, sweetie," Esmé leered.

"I'M A BALLPLAYING COWBOY SUPERHERO SOLDIER PIRATE!" Carmelita whined. "Get it straight, bitch!" She smacked Esmé across the face.

"Isn't she adorable?" She asked no one in particular. She looked at Violet, as if she had forgotten she was there. "Oh, right. She requires a—" (ZOOM IN ON THE END OF ESMÉ'S GLASSES, THE CLOSEST THING SHE'S GOT TO EYES RIGHT NOW) "harpoon gun."

"Sure," Violet smiled cheerfully, and skipped to the elevator, then waited patiently and angelically for it to come. It did, and she was ecstatic, and jumped around for a bit. Once she got downstairs, she was still smiling, and Frernest greeted her solemnly.

"Hello. Do you need something, or are you just gonna stand there smiling?"

"Gimme a minute," Violet said through her teeth. Ten minutes later, she was done. "So, have you a harpoon gun?"

"Why, yes, at this hotel we have EVERYTHING." He smiled UNFATHOMABLY. "Are you who I think you are or am I who I know I am? Or is Esmé—I mean, who?—I mean—oh gosh." He bit his fingernails.

"It's okay," Violet whispered, patting him on the back. "You're doing very well." She smiled unconvincingly.

"Here's the gun. Let a little girl kill someone. It's alright. Just—I can't do the role—just please get out."

"Sure," Violet said, returning to her perky self, and skipping away, which is admirable because it is very difficult to skip when holding something that dangerous and heavy.

The clock went off.

VIOLET, YOU'RE WRONG! went the clock. YOU DID EVERYTHING WRONG AND YOU CAN'T HELP YOUR SIBLINGS, IDIOT! YOU CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TWO TRIPLETS (COUGH) TWINS! CRY, VIOLET, CRY!

It repeated this phrase two more times and Violet wondered if there was something odd about the Hotel Denouement's clock.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Did you LOVE IT! Inform me at—kidding, just press the purple button!


	5. Chapter Five

A/N: My luverly reviewers deserve reviews...yzay! Heres to:  
Doug, o'course, Em, jjhboy, Emma, You can't catch me, and Worthy. :D

Note to my reviewers: If you reviewed once and haven't reviewed again and are just reading, review, you!

Luv,

Dazee

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Adios, Violeta!" Klaus-a called, blowing kisses, and adjusting his mustache. He walked with pep and bounce, going from foot to foot. He reached room 671, he announced it rather loudly and a certain chemist (whisper, whisper) looked at him oddly. Klaus-a was thinking, bleh bleh bleh, doesn't he always do that? Anyway...

"Hola, señors!" He called merrily, rosy cheeks puffing merrily.

"Concertina!" a FAMILIAR voice answered. Klaus-a grinned merrily at this silly old man. "How did you know there were two male people in here?" The door opened.

"I-a just-a guessed-a," Klaus-a said truthfully and merrily. "Now-a, can I be of—ah-sis-tans-ay?"

"How did you know I needed assistance?" the man asked. Klaus-a looked at him properly and his merry face contorted into an equally merry position, though merriment was getting quite tiresome. It was Señor! Klaus-a fainted, but then, since we want to get on with the chapter, he miraculously got up unharmed.

"Señor, how can I help-a you-a?" Klaus-a asked, ignoring the man's rude question.

"How did you know my name?"

"Hello," Charles said elusively. "I'm Señor's secret lover, following him everywhere. Now, hunny, he probably just stalks you."

"I'm not an idiot! Of course he does!" The cloud of smoke said.

"Now come," Klaus-a said, very disturbed. "Sauna is—uh, this-a way-a."

"How did you know we wanted to go to the sauna?" Señor asked, very suspicious this time, and rightfully so.

"No reason," Klaus-a turned around, his right eye twitching. As they began walking, Klaus-a tried to make pleasant conversation. "So, are you a natural redhead?"

"DON'T TELL HIM ANYTHING!" Señor said, shaking his cloud.

They got to the sauna and Señor ordered the "concertina" to stay outside, but the concertina came out to spy on the "secret" lovers.

"Uh—ahem," Klaus-a said. "Why are you not making out?"

"Who said that?"

"Um—the steam." Klaus-a put on a high voice.

"I'm not an idiot! I know that pans can't talk!"

"No, I said the steam!"

"Oh. So, Charles, let's discuss business. Blah blah, blah blah, yada yad, hmm hmm, Christy Bacon Yo Robinson Kyle."

"Interesting-ga," Klaus-a noted silently.

Suddenly this highly interesting conversation was interrupted (aw, man) by Ernank.

"Sorry to interrupt any secret conservations," he said UNFATHOMABLY, "but conservations are not allowed in this hotel, only in room 00371284.2238.2777170. Now come, concierge, because this—person, over here, who we have—" and he winked UNFATHOMABLY— "nooo idea who he or she is, will take you, even though it's certainly not their job. I didn't know that many people were kind and generous, did you?" He asked UNFATHOMABLY, exaggerating every word.

Klaus-a rolled his eyes at this annoying human being. "Coming, Ernank," he whined in the same tone kids do to their parents. He shuffled out.

When the lovers and the non-suspicious chemist had left, Ernank began to speak UNFATHOMABLY. "Now, just put this flypaper up, though I mostly just mill around and do nothing, just—just do it, alright?" He grinned UNFATHOMABLY. "Now are you who I think you are, dude?" He said indifferently. He desparately wanted to get this shit over with. "Yes? No? Maybe so? Got it. Seeya, Klaus-a." He waddled off, putting his hands on his hips, and talking to himself.

Suddenly the blah blah blah clock began to ring. VIOLET, YOU'RE WRONG! went the clock. YOU DID EVERYTHING WRONG AND YOU CAN'T HELP YOUR SIBLINGS, IDIOT! YOU CAN'T TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TWO TRIPLETS (COUGH) TWINS! CRY, VIOLET, CRY!

Klaus looked up at the clock and he wondered whether Violet was doing okay.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you for reading, guys! I would do the kiss smiley, but the asterisk doesn't work. :P

Keep reviewing, those who are reading. :)


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: This all mine because I don't like Snicket and his anguish amuses me. In other words, I'm O. Naw, I don't own.

A/N: Hey fellas and fellinas! I'm back for the next installment of mah parody. Yzay! Thank you to all my reviewers. (I have pinkeye.) You guys really keep me going. And now I'll stop babbling as annoying speech-giver and become an annoying writer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Six

Let's do Klaus's entrance, but insert Sunny's name. Good for you guys? Thought so. Anyway, Sunny approached rm. 3,000,700,010,000. But she heard someone torturing a small animal, or what she thought was that, by the sound.

She apprehensively entered, and to her horror, she recognized three people she had met before UNFATHOMABLY (too early? Right. Sorry). Also, to her horror, was that Mrs. Bass was wearing a blonde wig. Sunny slapped her and informed her that blonde was her thing. Oh yeah, by the way, VP Nero was holding a horse by its tail and playing its tail on the violin.

"Damn," Sunny muttered. "I didn't get the 'small' part."

"Ah well," Mr. Remora shrugged. "That'll be $3400."

"Fine," Sunny groaned. "But next time, I get to pick what we bet on." Mr. Remora whined, but Sunny told him after the scene. They had to continue.

"Oh right." Nero had obviously been preoccupied with the whole betting deal. "Who dares interrupt a genius while he's rehearsing?"

"Concierge." Sunny smiled at her sudden ability to say long words. "Antidisestablishmentterrianism. Superkalifragilisticexpialidocious. Humuhumunukunukuapuaa."

"Great." Mrs. Bass said, sarcastically.

More hints. I worked here. I fired someone. They fired me. I ran away like the coward I am. Mutual agreement. Whatever. This is vair useful in the story. The end.

"What is it woman?"

"I'm not a woman. I'm a child." Sunny nudged Nero slightly, as if to remind him of her "age" of 2.5 as opposed to her actual age, which was 15. She pointed to her large field of acne.

"Right. Anyway, why are you here, yada yada yada..."

"Rang."

"Really? What a surprise." Nero was a very good actor. (shifty eyes) "And I have this on Thursday, which is the only mention of time in this series, and Remora has blah blah, and we were all lured here." The studio audience gasped at what the idiot had just revealed. "I mean...not. I mean—" He hit himself on the head, amidst whining frm the audience.

"Should we just go?" Sunny asked, tapping her size 8 heel.

"Sure. Oh wait, we have to do the money thing," Mrs. Bass sighed. Mr. Remora exhaled, annoyed. "Here. Money from MMM. Great. Can we go?"

Sunny was happy at this prospect. She almost ran out the door, almost hitting the top of the frame because of her height. "C'mon, round em up, move em in, let's go!"

"What're you doing?"

"No idea."

They got to the restaurant by an excellent choice of words from the author. "Whadja want?" A female voice asked, chewing gum and tapping her toe.

"You're not Hal. I mean, VFD? What?" Bass said not very obviously.

Someone threw the woman aside, and an old (I guess, very strong, though) man replaced her in a jiffy. "Shut up with the jiffy thing," Hal told the heavens. "Damn authors. Okay, what'll it be? Sad occasion? Sad occasion? Sad oh-kas-ee-on?"

"I want this, this, this and this," Mrs. Bass said. "Oh and this. Now go away."

"I'm racist against white hair!" Nero said, picking at the man's hair.

"Xenophobic, you mean?"

"Right."

"Go away, konseeurge freak," Nero told Sunny, "so we can talk about a secret organization we don't know about." He raised his eyebrow dramatically, and Sunny shuffled off.

"Hey Frernedewey," she called to the man with straws for arms. This name was getting annoying, what with three people. She sighed. Would this never end? 15 hours a day was too much.

"Hey," he waved a straw UNFATHOMABLY. "Now on to business. Hal, secret organization. Decoy. Sugar bowl. Yada. Yada. Blah. J.S. VFD. Crow. Mmm. Mycelium. Villateer." He added UNFATHOMABLY. His UNFATHOMABLENESS was a bit irritating, but UNFATHOMABLE is his favorite word.

"Ooh. No, it should volain." Hal piped up UNFATHOMABLY.

"_Villateer!"_ The UNFATHOMABLE man insisted UNFATHOMABLY. "What the hell is volatin? Fucking idiot." He threw his hands in the air in frustration. Sunny's floorboard creaked from under her 120-pound-body.

"Erm..." Hal said UNFATHOMABLY. He looked at Frernedewey, and they said in unison UNFATHOMABLY, "Are you who I think you are?" They stared at the costume, which had to be the best one ever, right? Sunglasses and a uniform. Oh, you know what it is that's really convincing? The hat. Definitely.

SIIIIIIIIIIIIIIDETRAAAAAAAACKED

"I'm a concierge, dumb bass."

"Riiight." UNFATHOMABLENESS washed over the room. The third analogy poppped up, and Sunny beat it up. The UNFATHOMABLES were glad, those did get rather annoying. Not unlike UNFATHOMABLE.

"Now, since you're a baby," Frerneahduahufihnegnhwefjqfaifheiw said UNFATHOMABLY, with an UNFATHOMABLE wink, "Do everything that everyone wants you to do. Vulnerablity rawks. So put this on the door! Now!" UNFATHOMABBBLLLEEE...

"VIOLET, YOU SUCK! GO HOME! NOBODY LIKES YOU! CRY! DIE! CRIEDIE!"

Sunny looked up. After three times, it did get a bit tiresome.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Sooo...whadja think? Gimme a rrrrrrrreeeeeevvvvvvvviiiiiiiiieeeeeeeewwwww, dahling. I love you all. I do. Now...off to the movie store!


	7. Chapter Seven and NOT A CHAPTER

A/N: Forgot the Not a chapter before, so it's here. GRIN.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRIPTYCH.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, in the land of popcorn and PopTarts, in the land of hamburgers and just plain cows, of movies and munchies, of laptops and lapdances, there were many people. Six billion, to be exact. In the entire world. But…follow me on a journey to another land. We're going—past Neptune, past Pluto, just a little farther…ah. Here it is. We call this planet—Lemony Land.

It's exactly like planet Earth, except with less people. There is only about a hundred in the entire place. But all are involved, in some way, with a secret organization called V.F.D.

--

Wouldja cut the crap? This is NOT a scientific video! Fuckin' Chuck Norris.

--

Aaanyway, this person was doing this, and yada yada yada. Important but not important enough, if you know what I mean. Ya don't? Oh well. Now, our main Bratties were in the—where? The—front desk. Should've known.

Jesus Christ. You're fired.

What!

Both of you shut up! The story has to take place.

"Why did this happen?" Violet asked.

"And this?" Klaus demanded. They turned to Sunny, who was tuning a guitar, trying to strum out "Over the Moon."

"Only thing to do is…jump over the moon!" Sunny then began to rock out, singing random bits from any rocker from Janis Joplin to U2 to Green Day. Violet and Klaus looked away. "Ignore her and pretend she doesn't exist," Klaus hissed. Violet nodded.

"My story doesn't make sense!"

"Neither does mine!"

"Sunny, stop strumming!" At this, little Sunny jumped at Violet's neck, with Klaus stopping her from gnawing at Violet. "Diiieeee muthafucka!" Sunny was foaming at the mouth and Klaus put a leash on her.

"Heel, Sunny!" Sunny fell backwards onto the floor, but the foam was no more, so it was all good.

"Wow." Violet wiped her brow, though she had done nothing but scream.

"Sha."

"Where were we?"

"Problems."

"Right." Pause. "Wait, doesn't Sunny need to be up so she can talk about John God Sex?"

"Yeah." They propped her up, and she said what they had needed her to, but then fell, but miraculously fell onto a nice comfy mattress that was small enough for her 15-year-old self.

"John God Sex? Is that the guy who—" Klaus began, but was interrupted.

"Wrote the poem about the six blind men and the elephant, It was six men of Hindustan  
To learning much inclined… And prate about an Elephant  
Not one of them has seen!" She rattled this off very fast.

"Wow," Klaus told Violet who had recited the whole poem. "How'd you do that?"

Violet had a guilty grin and put her finger to her lips. "Wikipedia."

Cheesy commercial music.

Wikipedia. Free online encyclopedia. BIGGRIN

"THIS CHAPTER IS TOO DAMN LONG!" Sunny shrieked. "Can we just end it already?"

"Alright," the almighty Author answered. "Klaus, just figure out what the crow shit is." She disappeared into the heavens.

"Right-o," said Klaus Britishly.

After that longass talk, we decide to enter Frenewey, down a long rope. Frog-shaped lamp and shit like that.

"Who are you?"

"Frank?"

"Ernest?"

"DEWEY, BITCHES!" He began to explain.

We tuned him out and decided to watch Fear Factor instead.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Grin. I happen to like that chapter. It'll probably be shittier when it's not just in my mind. :P  
References: Dodgeball and RENT. Those who find get awards and whatnot.

Byeas,

Grace


	8. Chapter Eight

TPPCH8

BYDS

AN: Here lyeth parody the 8th of TPP. Get it got it good.

Dsclmr: See other chptrs.

Lemony/Daniel: Look! I'm not a fuckin' dictionary! If they want the definition of "denouement" they can look it up!

Editor: That's your job, Lemaniel.

Lemaniel: Eh, fuck off!

Editor: Oh hello, gentle reader. I will write this part, seeing as it is straight out of the dictionary. Shh! Don't tell HarperCollins.

**Denouement**

**1.**

The final resolution or clarification of a dramatic or narrative plot.

The events following the climax of a drama or novel in which such a resolution or clarification takes place.

2. The outcome of a sequence of events; the end result.

curtain up

Anyway, so the denouement of Snow White is this, and this is that, and that is up, but don't tell down. On with the story, shall we?  
"No!"

"Shuuuut uuup!"

The man before them suddenly made his eyes large and spooky. "Bau-de-laires. We're all alone. In the dark."  
Klaus glanced around nervously. "So?" The man burst into laughter, as his face rapidly turned red.

"I's just messing withya!" The man's eyes filled with tears. "Wasn't that funny!" Suddenly he stopped laughing and stood up straight. "By the way, I'm totally good." He winked at them kindly. "Anyway, I'm suuuure you wanna know who I am, dontcha dontcha dontcha?"  
Somewhere in the wilderness, a lone voice was heard: "Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me? Dontcha?"  
By now the story was down on its knees, begging for mercy. The god of Chaos merely laughed.

"I'm Dewey Denouement!" The man said with a flourish. The kids were silent. "Anyone? Anyone? No? Remember—Oprah—Jerry Springer—most—don't you guys watch that?" The kids shook their heads dumbfoundedly.

"Who's _Orpah?_" Sunny asked, admiring her eight-inch heels. Dewey put his head in his hands. "You've gotta be kidding. You know what? No. That—that doesn't matter, because we're trying to do a story here, am I right? Thought so. Okay."

Anyway, let's skip the boring parts—Aha!  
Dewey was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong again. Like the clock. Whooooa. Coincidences only happen twice in a lifetime, yo.

At the right moment to "get this story started on a Saturday night (pelvic thrust, pelvic thrust)" two people with the same initials came out of a taxi. JS female and JS male.

"Hello JS female and JS male! Whatever are you doing here?" asked Violet a la children in old movies.

"Since now there's no way to go back," JS male said, "We're both very sorry about being horrible guardians.

"No problem!" Violet said. "Though that's probably why we're here, among other things." She smiled and the others frowned.

"Violet…the bubble-buster…" JS female muttered to JS male.

"Aaaanyway," the once-silent Dewey said brightly. "Oh, yes, they are actually good despite all their big big big faults." They saluted him.

"So everything is A-OK!" The JS's said in unison.

Klaus cleared his throat to beg to differ, but thought better of it. "See you in the morning, Baudelaires!" JS's said, and skipped away, leaving the Baudelaires to roll their eyes.

The clock rang. "WRONG! GODDAMN IT, I FUCKING HATE THIS JOB!" It repeated this a few times.

"What a shitty book." Sunny said, and skulked off, closely followed by her siblings and fellow volunteer.

Done. Weird chapter, dontcha think? Review review review. And I said that three times for a reason. ;)

Grace


	9. Chapter Nine

1Here we go, faithful readers, another installment of the zany, wacky, totally cool, new and improved, superkalifragilisticexpialidocious chapter of...THE PARODY THAT DOESN'T USE ALLITERATION!

Disclaimer: Two words. Don't own. Back off.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"PLEEEASE!" A voice cried. We panned left and saw that it was in fact the story, aka TPP, on its knees, begging for mercy. "I'll be good! Just please don't kill me!"

"Nevaaaah!" The god of Chaos said dramatically.

"You'll never kill me?" TPP asked, confused.

Chaos realized his mistake and decided to become a _smart_, evil, torturous dictator dude. Big change for him. "I meant...death is too good for you." He laughed an evil laugh.

"BO-RING!" some child said, and pulled the tape very abruptly out of the VCR.

**Theme Song goes here**

Olafiosa appeared on the scene, like he always does, just to spite the Baudelaire orphans. "HAHA! Giggledy figgledy pork chops!"

"That was soooo last book, Ofiosa." Esme said, filing her acrylic nails.

Suddenly, and without warning, a large pork chop entered. When I say large, I really mean ginormous. It was about as big as a mouse on top of a Mary Sue on top of a cheetah on top of an armchair on top of a truck on top of a house...give or take.

"Whooo caaaalled meee?" it asked.

"Him." everyone said, and pointed in Olaf's direction, who merely giggled and tried to hide behind his ex.

"Gerroff!" Esme squealed.

Suddenly, and without warning, and out of the sky, was a huge...analogy. You heard the faint words, "Small mercy...flyswatter...the letter H...haha..." and nobody quite knew what to do with it. "Willya get outta here!" Olaf finally yelled, momentarily forgetting about the pork chop.

The pork chop decided it was very annoyed with it, and kicked it out of there, and finally left out of mere boredom. Everyone cheered that two annoying things were now gone.

"Anyway, back to my facade," Olaf said. "Baudelaires! YOU'RE MINE!"

"Nooo," Violet said in a smart-alecky voice. We're just standing in the same room." She rolled her eyes.

"Mwhahaahaha! That's what you think!" His girlfriend hit him and he whimpered like the man he was. "Gimme her, Ernest!"

"No!"

"Gimme her, Frank!"

"Not Frank."

"Gimme her, Dewey!" Everyone stared, but it got worse when...

"No!" His face was defiant. "Big...Gay...AL!"

_He's super, thanks for asking_

_All things considered, he couldn't be better, he must say_

_Everything is super when you're...don't you think I look cute in this _hat

"WHAT!"

Meanwhile, the poor story was being whipped mercilessly.

"Meh, fuck this." And BGA left.

"Wait! He's s'posed to DIE!" someone randomly shrieked.

Enter Dewey Denouement, surrounded by glory...and shining bright lights. "There he is, Mr. Denouement, There he is–" sang Wayne Bernie. We kicked him out because nobody likes him.

Aaaanyway... "Whoever you are, hand over the fecking Baudelaires, biatch!" Olaf, the definition of a homophobe, declared. "Nay!" retorted the J.S.'s. "Noble people are better, bitch!"

"Nuh-uh! I'm better than yoouuu!" Olaf cried.

"Nuh-uh!" Jerome retorted.

"Yuh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yuh-huh!"

"Feck you guys, bitches!" Sunny said loudly while doing her full, teenage (er, baby) hair. Everyone turned and screamed at her, and she cried in a corner. We don't like her either.

"Oohh, did you say 'guys?'" Olaf smiled wickedly. "That almost rhymes with 'Your parents weren't as noble as you _think_, Baudebrats!' Remember that night at the opera, Monsieur Denouementioso?" He brought his hand to his ear in mock hard of hearing.

At this, Lemaniel invented a very tedious analogy, basically explaining what "hard of hearing" means in this case. 76.55 of the readers fell asleep.

The real Dewey, who we've decided that we don't like as much compared to Big Gay Al Dewey, blushed. "I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you, you do remember that, don't you? Blushy blush blush blushy! Haha!"

At this point no one was intimidated, because generally that happens when you're scared, not weirded out by a crazy lunatic.

Then, to make things more interesting, four people appeared: Carmelita, Hugo, Colette, and Kevin. They shouted random things that aren't important because we hate sensible storylines. Pshh. After, they repeated the whole "Yuhhuh, Nuhuh" fandango and we looked away in embarrassment.

"Gasp!" Justice Strauss said. "_You_," she pointed to Violet, "gave Carmy Carmy the harpoon gun! How dareth you!"

"Now I can spit!" Carmy said. "Habadawhat?" Practically everyone said. This girl had to be delusional. "I WANT TO LEARN TO SPIIIIIIIIT!"

"OLAFIE! TEACH ME HOW TO SPIT BEFORE I USE THIS HARPOON GUN IN A BAAAAD WAY, COUNTIE!" Carmy was very powerful for a four-year-old.

"Yes, master." Olaf saluted.

"Pssst," said Not-BGA after a long silence. "Guess what?" And without waiting, he supplied, "I have a seeecret." Everyone leaned in.

"Haha! Got you!" He laughed hysterically, making everyone groan. "No, but seriously, I've got...a..._library_."

DUN–DUN–DUUUUUUUUN.

"Anyway, tell me how to open the door, or Carmy dearest will harpoon you."

"NEVA!"

"Point it, girlie!" Olaf told the brat.

"TEACH ME TO SPIT!" The brat responded.

"Nuhuh!"

"Yuhhuh!"

"Nuhuh!"

"Yuhhuh!"

"Nuhuh!"

"Yuhhuh!"

"Nuhuh!"

"Yuhhuh!"

"Nuhuh!"

"Yuhhuh!"

"Fiiiiiine!" Olaf screamed, taking the thing from her and knocking her down. And with a malicious grin, he added, "I'll do it myself." He continued talking, but this time in slow motion. "Yoooouuu haaaave teeeenn ssseeeccoonndddsss tooo teelllll meeee hooowww tooo ooopppeeennn iiiiitttt oooorrr yyyoouuu diiieeee. OOONNEE."

"NOOOOOOOO!"

"TWWOOOO!"

"THREEEE!"

"NOOO!"

ETC.

"TEEEENNN!"

Boom. Crash. Snap. Crackle. Pop. Zimzam. Awopbopaloobopawopbambooom.

Dewey Dead.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love from G-Race.


	10. Chapter Ten

1A/N: Yzay! I'm baack. I bet you thought you'd finally gotten rid of me. Well, you were wrong. Sooo sorry for the extra-long wait between chapters. I did get a lot of reviews for that chapter, though, which I thank you guys for. I'll respond to your comments at the end, in exchange for this chapter. Meh, so I don't use the respond thing...It's annoying anyway.

-uses favorite theme music to begin chapter, which currently is BttF. Yaay!-

DUN DUN-DUN-DUN-DUN DUN DA (rpt)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What was that?"

"Who hark what them when sha schwing?" asked a random person from the studio audience.

"Hark the herald angels sing!"

"Oompa loompa doompadee doo!"

"My mother!"

"No, yo momma!"

"We are lookin' for Blues Clues, cuz it's really fun! Whee!"

Random voices sang out from above, and God told his angels to come back to heaven and quit bugging the earth creatures.

"No!" cried Bartleby. "NOOOOOOOOO! Die Loki die!"

"I don't believe in voodoo," Loki laughed randomly. And they disappeared with a blaze of fangirls wanting them to both be gay and together.

"There's been an accident," Violet murmured, continuing with her lines as if nothing had happened.

"One of the hotel managers has died," Klaus said.

"Which one? Bartleby? Loki? Jay?"

"No, stupid, the Apostle!"

"Silent Bob, no question."

"Was I the only one who thought it was the Muse?"

"I DIDN'T REALIZE THIS WAS A SAD OCCASION!" shouted a random voice. "This isn't code, so back the fuck off!"

"Shee," Klaus said in a very hard-to-express-in-words-but-you'll-understand-if-you-hear-it-ou-loud-maybe way. Violet rolled her eyes. Hyphens were so UNFATHOMABLE.

"We should call the Muse!"

"We should call Angel. No, Collins!"

"We should call Jessica Martin!"

"We should call Elphaba!"

"We should call Jay & Silent Bob!"

"We should call Trekkie Monster!"

"We should call White Goodman!"

"Meh," a very UNFATHOMABLE man appeared out of the abyss (walked a cow, Elsie. Any Rentheads out there? No. Never mind). "Hello Baudelaires," he said a la Rod Serling in the Twilight Zone. "I'm here to give you an UNFATHOMABLE taxi. Would you care for a ride?" The cigarette smoke, a la old movies, completely blocked his face UNFATHOMABLY, a la UNFATHOMABLENESS.

"Frernest!" Klaus screeched. Hey, it wasn't a bad guess. The man was tall, thin, and was UNFATHOMABLE like what.

"No, you idiot. I'm–erm, never mind. I'm here to bring you to–erm, never mind. Just get in the fucking car. Please?"

"Very trustworthy." Violet tapped her chin. "We should get a ride with him. Maybe head for his pimp crib." All of this was said in a very Violet-y (not homedog) way. "But are you who I think you are?"

"I DUNNO!" The man said, throwing his hands in the air, and pacing. "You've blown my cover! I have no idea! I should probably ask Oprah or Dr. Phil who I am...maybe they know."

"Listen, hunny," Klaus said. "Oprah is fat, and Dr. Phil is Southern. You do not wanna hang around with them."

Then, to ruin everything even more than usual, Mr. Poe appeared, but was rolling like a Roly Poly. "Poe!" Klaus screeched again. "Bumbling Poe, here to help our foe, without even meaning to, look at that fat man go!" He sang that last part. Finally Poe stood upright. "Hmmph," he said dramatically and bumbled away.

"Anyway..." someone said to break the silence. The silence screamed (oxymoron, eh?) as it was chopped in half by some random audience member.

"I have a name, you know!" The audience member screeched...UNFATHOMABLY, a la...repetitive things. -big grin- (S)He stomped off in a huff. Teehee.

"Anyway, on with the plot." Mrs. Bass said, adjusting her UNFATHOMABLE wig. "Here we go–they're bad."

"They're good!" shouted the JS's, Charles, the boring people, you know.

"They're bad!" shouted Bass, Olaf, Carma "Isn't she dead yet?" Lita Spats, etc.

This rambled on for another 4500 minutes and we got bored. Nearly everyone died for lack of food and water, but we decided to have a trial to make it all better.

"'Ow'd you like the trial for lunch, eh, Pat?"

"Never better, Bert."

"I liked it too. Better than tea, even."

"Tea! Oh, tea! I love tea. Should we 'ave some tea, then?"

"Bloody hell, oi mate, bless our dear old Queen, I'M BRITISH, yes!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am sooo sorry to Oprah. No offense meant, she's a really smart (and rich) lady. Apologies all around. However, all offense is meant to Dr. Phil. And rednecks. -sticks out tongue-

A/N: Well, there we go. Letdown? No? Tell me what you think...in a dazzling review! Por favor, thank you Amsterdamn (hee), goodnight!

-Chandler, Friends


	11. Chapter Eleven

A/N: Wow, it's been a while. Wish I could say my computer broke down or something, but I've just been too lazy to get off my ASS! (Which, coincidentally, I'm sitting on right now. ) So, hence, the chapter begins:

CHAPTER 11

"Here you go," Frernest said merrily. "The perfect place to relax before you go into the trial of your life—between you and your mortal enemy, the man who might kill you any second and has tried for who knows how long; one of the most evil men this world has ever seen—but, the upside is, you get a perfect relaxation area before you go—this broom closet!"

He opened the door and threw them in, cackling. "Who was that?" Klaus asked, as if that really mattered right now.

Violet scratched her head, which didn't have much room with three full-grown (ahem) two fullgrown and one baby in the small closet. "I don't know, but I think this is very important to the story."

"Shhh," Roger said, poking his head into the closet from wherever he is, and spraying them with spit a la pre-"Your Eyes." "I know."  
"I should tell you," Klaus sang, holding Roger's hand.

"I should tell you," Roger crooned.

"I love—" and Klaus collapsed onto Violet, who was sputtering. Roger cried, "Klaus-yyyyyyyyyy!" and then disappeared as fast as he had come.

So, hence, when the trial began, Frernest and Ernank had to drag Klaus out UNFATHOMABLY, while Violet and Sunny walked—ahem, walked and _crawled_ behind.

Justice Strauss approached them, and gave the three blindfolds. Well, two. Klaus was laying on the floor twitching hysterically, but they ignored him, because who cares about a brunet 13-year-old geek with blush on?

"Why do we have these on?" Violet asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Justice Strauss asked, filing her nails a la Violet in a previous chapter. "We have to put them on because justice—" she gestured wildly with her hands in an oddly Italian way—"is blind. By the way, did you see my fellow judges before you put the blindfolds on?" she asked them anxious—nervous—anxiously.

"Uh, no." Violet's eyebrows furrowed. "Should we have?"

"Hahahahahahahahahaha………..no." She then stalked away back to her bench. "So—who knows about these orphans?" she banged her gavel.

"I do!" came from all across the room. One sounded oddly like Roger, another like Britney Spears, and yet another like Humpty Dumpty.

"Order! Order!" She banged her gavel yet again. "You. The egg. What've you got to share with us?"  
"W-well, Sunny and I went out a few times in high sch—preschool," he added hastily, "and—she, she—"

"YOU!" Sunny shrieked from across the room, and pointed in a certain direction, which happened to be the wall.

"A little to the left, honey," came Justice Strauss's voice. She adjusted her finger. "No, to the right. Just—no, stay right there. Right. Please continue, Mr. Dumpty."

"Well—she couldn't put me back together again!" and at this the fat egg burst into tears.

"Sunny is king's horses and men!" asked a voice that no Baudelaire could recognize.

"Mais oui!" came another voice which sounded like Fleur Delacour.

"You have no idea," drawled a Southern voice.

"ORDER!" came a hoarse voice near Justice Strauss. At this, a high-pitched scream came from next to Violet.

"AAAH! c'est l'homme avec une barbe mais aucuns cheveux! es ist der Mann mit einem Bart aber keinem Haar! es el hombre con una barba pero ningún pelo!" Sunny cried.

"Aah," sighed Ford Prefect from across the room. "The Babelfish. A simple yet wonderful creature."

50 Cent banged through the door and shot Mos Def, and then Douglas Adams rolled over in his grave.

"Can we please get on with the chapter?" asked Tim Curry, dressed in his Rocky Horror Picture Show outfit, which was the complete opposite of how he was acting. We just got him in because he has a British accent and is therefore dignified.

"Fiiine," whined Strauss.

"If we must."

"I submit this!" "I submit that!" "I submit—HEYYYYYYY MACARENA!"  
Because sanity is very scarce in this story, we suddenly had to break into song and dance, ie. THE MACARENA! (The UNFATHOMABLE MACARENA starring Ernest and Frank Denouement.)

Guess what? I'm sick of this chapter. Let's just have the Baudelaires discover the judges and—

ANNOYING ALWAYS RIGHT PERSON IN AUDIENCE: Didn't that just happen?

ME: Where?  
AARPIA: Well, when Sunny was talking in all different languages a few paragraphs up. That was her saying "It's the man with a beard but no hair."  
ME: Aah right. Anyway—

Discover the judges and add a few more analogies, long paragraphs, page-long lists, and we'll call it a chapter, all right? Good night, folks.

Sorry for the shitty chapter. I'll try and do better next time. Aw, it's so sad. Only two chapters left. This story's been really fun to write. Anyway, review and I may just answer you guys this time! That is, if I get a lot of reviews! Later!


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter 12

Oh wow, the penultimate chapter to the penultimate book. Eeesh. How long have I been working on this now? Don't answer that. Anyways, here is the chapter, chapter 12, for your viewing pleasure. Forgive me if the line breaks don't work, they usually don't…

LINE BREAK HERE

The sinister duo have just been discovered and backgammon has been referenced to many times……many, many times.

"The Baudelaires have done it again!" drawled a French accent, belonging to the man with beard but no hair.

"GUILTY! GUILTY!" shrieked the Southern accent that belonged to the woman with beard but no hair and facial ornaments and shit. She was a lot dumber than her accomplice in case you hadn't noticed. "CONTEMPT OF COURT! CONTEMPT OF COUURTT!" The woman screamed, and people threw tomatoes at her and rotten cabbage.

"Peek, you worthless fools! Peek, damn you!" Sunny whined but nobody moved.

"LISTEN TO THE 1-YEAR-OLD BABY! SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE'S TALKING ABOUT!" yelled Jerome Squalor. Silence.

"Why haven't you taken off your blindfold?" asked a quiet voice.

Silence.

"How do you know?"

"AAAAAAAAAH! She has the sixth sense!" Jerome took off his blindfold and ran screaming from the room like a little girl.

Pan right to Dr. Evil. "I'd like to point out he's the only one in our gene pool who runs like a girl."  
"I used to think you were crazy, but now I see you're nuts," joked Humpty Dumpty very…very badly.

"You suck!" people screamed and threw cabbage at him, the facial ornament person of the female persuasion included.

"Giggity giggity goo!" Quagmire hollered from the side of the room, just to be random and piss off those non-parody worshippers.

"HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM," Justice Strauss said, desperately trying to get on with the story, cueing the judges up.

"She's talking in Hmmms because she's mouth-blindfolded," admitted the male judge.

"Oh damn you," Olaf said nonchalantly and kicked him out the window.

"They're true!"  
"They're false!"

"They're true!"  
"They're false!"

"They're true!"  
"They're false!" screamed random people who had decided to sit in and watch the show (talking about the Baudelaires).

"Let's head for the basement," Klaus said loudly, and the people responded brilliantly.

"Let's go look for them," shouted Poe.

"Should we try the basement, or room 752?" asked Ernest.

"Let's take a vote," suggested Frank.

"Let's take off our blindfolds," suggested Dewey, who disappeared in a flash of TRIPLETS (cough) twinsish.

They disappeared down into the elevator and Olaf screamed at them to open the lock for him.

"No! Nevah!" the Bauds said simultaneously.

"Fine," Olaf said, and whimpered like a child. Pause. "Pwease?" he turned around with tears in his eyes.

"Fine….," Violet said.

"Fine…." Sunny said.

"Fiona," Klaus said, and quickly covered his mouth. Luckily, no one noticed. DID I JUST SAY LUCKILY? (smacks self)

Please dear reader, forget that the word l was in this story. Ignore and continue on with your life. By the way, stop reading.

"Here is the answer," Klaus told him, opening a big book called 'The Baudelaire Book of Answers,' which had been used in books 2-11. He jabbed his finger into chapter twelve's first page: Honesty and Openness.

"You're allergic to honesty and openness?" asked Olaf, with tears gleaming in his eyes. "You really are growing up. You'll be planning evil plots before you know it. Just like your Uncle Olaf."  
"Who's he?"

"Never mind." They typed it in. "What was the weapon that left you an orphan, Olaf?"

More tears. "Well, please don't tell anyone, but—your parents!"

"WHAT!"  
"They beat my parents to death with…your parents!" Olaf started sobbing now, and the Baudelaires joined him. "It killed your parents too, tragically."  
"I thought you started the fire that killed them," said the intellectual reader.

"SHUT UP! NO BEING SMART!" and Lemaniel smacked him across the room.

Justice Strauss meanwhile, had her mouth wide open, staring. "You are crying together and that is unacceptable! In the name of justice! How dare you! Baudelaires, I'm beginning to think you're not as noble as I once thought you were! I'm going to report you for th—" And Olaf kicked _her_ out the window too.

"I wonder if _she_ died?" asked the inquisitive readers in the audience.

SMACK!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

A/N: I LOVED your beautiful reviews by the way. Especially since this is the last chapter. Whatever. Here's the LAST freakin' chapter of this story. 7 MONTHS! Damn!

"Burn down hell," Sunny murmured with a poof of plothole.

"Sorry?"

"Burn down HO-tel," Sunny said, clearing her throat obviously.

"Aahh," Olaf said. And the bloodthirsty Baudelaires formed a tribal circle around him while Olaf whined at the thought of fire. "We _have_ to?"

"Ah ooh ah ee ah oh oh oh, Ah oo ah ee ah oh oh oh, Ah ooh ah ee ah oh oh oh, Ah ooh ah ee ah oh oh oh—HOO!"

"I surrender!"

"Let's go warn the people, bitches!" Sunny cried and jumped into the elevator.

"PEOPLE STAY IN THE HOTEL, THERE IS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT!"  
"Bull-_shit_!" cried Mr. Remora, Ms. Bass, Nero, Hal, Carmelita, Esmé, Frank, Ernest, Dewey—cough twins, Jerome, woman with hair but no beard, man with beard but no hair, Mr. Poe, Josephine, Monty, Sir, Charles, the crow-shaped hat people, Quigley, Duncan, Isadora, Captain Widdershins, Fiona, Fernald, white-faced women, fat shehe, baldie with long nose, Justice Strauss, Olivia, Madame Lulu, Kit, Jacques, the mysterious taxi driver, Babs, and everyone else the Baudelaires had met in their extensive travels.

"No _shit_!" cried a pimp in the corner.

"Whatever, homes," said Mr. Poe.

"Let's ditch this Popsicle stand!" said Klaus and flew like a raven in a skyyyy of doves (I'll make you lurve to hate me)(Anyone? No.)

"Nah, I'd rather just stay here and smoke," smoked Olaf, sitting on a nearby convenient bench, a la Mrs. Krabappel.

Anyway, where was Klaus? Doves—into the magical boat!

"Hey! I'm the magical one!" Magical Trevor said.

_Everyone loves Magical Trevor Cuz the tricks that he does are ever so clever Look at him now, disappearing the cow Where is the cow, hidden right now? Taking a bow, it's Magical Trevor Look at him there with his leathery, leathery whip It's made of magic, and with a little flick……………There's so much Ragu_

Sylvie began doing the robot and singing it randomly.

Aaaaaanyhoo, Violet, Klaus and Sunny were jumping into the Magical Trevor boat, arguing about whether they had done the right thing or not.

"We're noble! We've just done things like light constant fires, disguised ourselves, and lied to people."

"Yeah, we're nowhere near as bad as _Olaf_," scoffed Klaus. "He's just lit constant fi—"

"Better not go there," said Justice Strauss before plummeting to her death as the building collapsed.

The brilliant readers in the audience said, "Well, if the building collapsed and everyone in it died, wouldn't Olaf die too?"

SMACK!

"Then there would be no plot, and no books sold for the 13th one," Lemaniel said wisely.

"No plot! Oh dearie me, how could _that_ ever happen?" Violet brought her hands to her face, _Home Alone_ style.

SMACK!  
What happened?

Oh right, the Bauds escaped on the magical boat with Magical Trevor and his clever tricks.

THE END 

Yeah, it sucked, but just review and tell me how _much_ it sucked. I'm losing my touch with parodies. Anyway, just REVIEW.


End file.
